I stood up to greet the woman who walked in. I guessed she could be anything from forty to mid-fifties. She was dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt and sneakers, so that gave her an air of youth. But there were lines on her face that hinted she’d lived a life. Time to find out exactly what her story was.
‘Hello.’ I smiled and ushered her in to take the seat opposite mine. ‘I’m Bea O’Connor, one of the investigators here at Family Finders Agency. How can I help?’
‘Hello.’ Her voice was so low, I had to strain to hear her. Her hands shook as she pulled a notebook from her handbag and flipped it open. ‘M-m-my-y son suggested that I, erm, write things down. That way, you know, I won’t forget. Er, is that OK with you?’
The poor woman was a bag of nerves. I held my own notebook up and waved it at her. ‘I think that’s a very good plan. I always do the same. How about we start with the easy stuff. What’s your name?’
‘I can manage that I’m sure. I’m Olive Spadoni.’ She smiled hesitantly, but it was a start.
‘OK, Olive, how can I help you?’
‘I’m looking for my husband. Ted. He’s been missing since September 2017. The police have stopped looking for him. They’ve done all they can, but they came up blank with every line of enquiry they pursued. But how can I just give up? We were married for over fifteen years. I don’t know what else to do. So I thought I’d come here. Can you help me?’
‘I’d like to try. Can you tell me the details behind his disappearance and we can take it from there.’
The relief on the woman’s face gave me pause for a moment. I wondered what Olive had been through over the past couple of years. While I’ve often thought of my mom as kind of missing, in a way I’ve always known where she was and what happened to her. Not knowing must be another level of pain. ‘You’ve come to the right place, Olive. We help people find everyone from birth parents to high school sweethearts. We have access to every public record in the US and many countries overseas. And our success rate, while not quite perfect, is not far off it. You’re in good hands.’
I waited for the tears that Katrina had predicted, but Olive took a deep breath and visibly pulled herself together. Good for her; she was made of sterner stuff than she looked on first appearance.
‘Let’s start with the basic facts. I’m going to need to see all of your husband’s documents: birth certificate, etc.’
She passed me a bundle of documents and I leafed through them one by one. Birth certificate, driving licence, bank details and a copy of his last mobile phone bill, which was dated August 2017.
‘Tell me about the last time you saw Ted …’
‘Nothing remarkable about it. Another normal autumn day. He left the house a little earlier than usual for his job, I suppose. At half past seven I was still in bed. Half asleep when he leaned in to kiss me goodbye. He always did that, every morning. I didn’t even open my eyes as he walked out the door. I kick myself now, for trying to hold on to that last moment of sleep. If I’d looked at him, maybe I’d have noticed he was upset.’
I nodded in sympathy. I could imagine how that haunted her now. ‘I take it you don’t know what he was wearing that morning.’
‘I’m sorry. The police have been through this with me so many times. But his usual attire was slacks, with a shirt and jumper. If he took a bag with him, it must have been one of his gym bags. All our family suitcases were still in the attic.’
It probably didn’t matter at this point. It wasn’t as if he’d still be wearing the same clothes three years later. ‘When did you realize he was missing?’
‘That evening. He didn’t come home from work at his usual time of half past six. He was an accountant in a big multinational. We started our evening meal without him. That felt strange. We always ate our evening meal together.’ She swallowed and then leaned in to me. ‘I’m doing this for our son, Teddy. He turns fifteen soon. When I asked him what he wanted for his birthday, he said he wanted his dad to come home. He’s asked me for the same thing for Christmas and for his birthdays ever since Ted went missing.’
‘That must be difficult. For both of you.’ I looked at the photograph in the file that Olive had placed in front of me. A moment captured in happier times, with the three of them standing in front of a lake, their faces brown from the sun. Ted in the middle of Olive and Teddy, an arm slung over their shoulders. The perfect family, wide smiles and eyes bright with happiness. Sometimes the camera does lie.
‘You make a beautiful family.’
‘That was taken the summer before Ted disappeared, on Lake Michigan. We went camping for a few days. I look at that photograph now and try to see hints in his face of anything that might give me a clue as to where he is. But I honestly can’t see anything but happiness at what was a lovely day.’
‘Sometimes life blindsides us, Olive. There are no hints or warnings.’
‘That’s for sure. The feeling of uselessness has overwhelmed me, shackled me, I suppose. But I’m sick of crying at home, worrying about the what-ifs and the whys. It’s time to be proactive. Be brave. That’s why I decided to come here. Maybe you can succeed where the detectives can’t. Teddy deserves to have his birthday wish granted.’
I shoved a lump back down my throat for this kid that I’d never met. I knew what it felt like to only want a parent for a gift. How many years had I sat on Santa’s knee at the mall and wished for that very same thing, even as I asked out loud for an American Girl doll or a bike. All I wanted was my mom – an impossible wish, even for Santa.
Gently I teased the rest of Ted’s story from her. He’d called in sick that morning after he left their home. He’d not seemed ill the previous evening, so this surprised her. His phone went to voicemail. His family members and friends, including the bowling team he played in a league with, all came up blank. Nobody had heard from or seen him. She rang their doctor and the local hospitals. At 10 p.m. she called the police and reported him missing.
From what she’d told me, everything pointed to this man disappearing on purpose. ‘Is there any chance that he would choose to go away?’ There was no way to sugar-coat that question. I hated asking, but it had to be done.
‘I thought we loved each other and our life together.’
Over the years since I got into this business, I discovered that sometimes there are several truths in a marriage. Just because Olive believed hers was fairy-tale happy, didn’t mean that Ted felt the same way.
‘How far did the NYPD get in their investigation?’ I decided to steer the subject to safer ground.
‘The NYPD Missing Persons Squad found Ted’s car, with his phone inside, parked at the Greyhound bus station at the Port Authority. But the case grew cold after that. It’s as if he disappeared off the face of the earth,’ Olive said. ‘Oh, and I ring all hospitals in the state every Monday morning. Just to double-check that he hasn’t turned up there with amnesia.’
‘In my experience, amnesia is rarely the reason that someone is missing. It’s the Hollywood answer, but in real life …’
Olive smiled at this, but it was one of those smiles that are without any humour. ‘I suppose I can’t believe that he’s left us on purpose. But I don’t believe he’s dead either. He used to come home from work every day at half past six, and it’s the darnedest thing, we still watch for him through the living room window at that time. I can’t stop myself. But we can’t go on like this. It’s taking a toll on Teddy and me. We need to know what happened. So that we can stop looking out that window.’
‘I promise you I’ll do everything I can to help you move on.’
I double-checked all the information she’d given me and questioned her again on the last conversation she’d had with Ted the evening before he disappeared. There didn’t seem to be any red flags in anything she’d shared. Nor did I think she was holding anything back. We went through the financials and Olive signed a contract. As she stood up to leave, I asked her one last question: ‘When is your son’s birthday?’
&
nbsp; ‘April ninth.’
That was it then. My case had a deadline. ‘Let’s see if we can make this birthday wish come true for him.’
I respected and understood that Olive didn’t want to hide from the truth any more. There was a lesson in that. I was driving myself crazy trying to ignore the letter one minute then scanning every word closely the next. I needed to make a decision and own it. Either I threw the letter into the trash, like Stephanie had done with hers, or I embraced it in all its weirdness. If my life had taken a turn into Marty McFly town, then I needed to know that. I thought of Corinne and Ryan, my dad, as a couple. And knew that because I wanted the impossible then – my mom and dad to be together – I had made it my business to make life difficult for them both. A visit to Corinne Dryden, Dad’s ex-girlfriend, was long overdue.
19
LUCY
August 1992
Times Square, Manhattan
We’d watched a lot of romantic comedies as teenagers and young adults. When Harry Met Sally, Pretty in Pink, Moonstruck, Mannequin. We loved them all. And as we cheered on the various couples to their inevitable happy-ever-after, I’d dream about finding a guy like the ones we saw on the big screen. Ever since Ryan bought me that cheesecake in Junior’s, I felt like I was the leading lady in my very own movie.
I called Ryan later that evening. He answered the phone after one ring and shouted with delight when I said hello. His obvious delight that I rang was infectious and I found myself giggling like a twelve-year-old. We arranged to go out the next evening. He arrived to collect me from our apartment on time, to the minute. He came in and didn’t flinch when Maeve interrogated him, insisting she had to make sure he wasn’t a bad hombre.
‘Bad hombre?’ Ryan asked, looking more than a little puzzled.
‘I’ll tell you later,’ I said. ‘That’s enough, Maeve. I haven’t put all your dates through this much! Fair is fair.’
‘That’s different. I can take care of myself.’ Then she turned to Ryan and all signs of merriment were gone, replaced with her very best stern face. ‘Lucy is special. You need to take very good care of her. Or you’ll have me to answer to. I can’t have a bad hombre hurt my sister.’
My respect for Ryan grew when he responded, with appropriate earnestness, ‘I give you my word.’
‘That’s good enough for me. Go. Have fun.’
‘You look like your sister,’ Ryan said as we walked towards the subway.
‘I hear that a lot. There’s only ten months between us. Irish twins, as the saying goes.’
‘So the two of you are close?’
‘Extremely. I don’t have any memories that don’t include her.’
‘What’s the bad hombre thing about?’
‘From the movie, The Three Amigos. We’re slightly obsessed with it.’
‘I’ll have to check it out.’
‘Where are we going?’
Ryan’s face broke into a grin. ‘I knew I had to pull out the big guns for you. I want tonight to be perfect. So I’ve got tickets for a show on Broadway! I noticed you looking at the billboard signs when we were in Times Square.’
I felt like Vivian in Pretty Woman, on her way to the opera. That was until I found out that the show was Cats.
I hated cats. I had a phobia of them. It started when I was about four or five and my cousin Huey threw one at me. It landed on my head and scratched my face as it tried to claw its way to the ground. I never got over that. I didn’t want to say anything to Ryan because he’d obviously gone to a lot of trouble and expense to get the tickets. But all the same he noticed that I wasn’t enjoying myself. At the interval, when he pushed me, I confessed that the cast dressed as cats were freaking me out. Despite roaring with laughter, he grabbed my hand and we left. Just like that. No drama. No recriminations or disappointment.
We walked to the View Lounge, a rooftop bar in the Marriott Times Square. Ryan had a beer and I ordered a cocktail called Top of the View. And with the most spectacular of views, we chatted with so much ease, it was as if we’d known each other our entire lives rather than a few hours. Ryan told me about his book, and his obvious passion for his work was lovely to see.
‘My parents own a bar at home. Nellie’s,’ I said.
‘What’s it like?’
‘If you could think of the complete opposite of this.’ I waved my arm around the chic surroundings, with huge glass windows. ‘That’s our Nellie’s. It’s a family-run business, been in the Mernagh family for generations. Nellie was my grandmother. We’ve got open fires, a long bar in the lounge and a smaller snug for the locals who just want to drink and not be social. I miss it.’
‘I’ve got an idea. Fancy coming to my local? It might be a little nearer to Nellie’s than this. But I have to warn you, some of my family might be there.’
‘I’d like that a lot.’ And even though I suppose I should have been nervous at the thought of meeting his people, I wasn’t. It felt right. As we walked across the street towards the subway, he reached down for my hand, and that felt right too. My hand seemed to fit inside of his, like the last piece of jigsaw sliding into place.
He told me about Farrell’s on the journey. How his parents went there most weekend nights, and how they never missed a Sunday evening. Because that’s when the Irish papers arrived, flown in on an Aer Lingus flight. Along with their Irish friends who lived in the neighbourhood, they all congregated to catch up on the news at home as a group. They’d swap gossip they’d learned during the week, from phone calls or letters. They discussed Irish politics and sport. The pub played all the Irish GAA games too, hurling and Gaelic football. Ryan told me that by the time he was thirteen, both he and his brother Mike were regulars, sitting in the young ’uns corner, drinking sodas.
As soon as we walked into the bar and heard people laughing and chatting, I knew I’d found somewhere I could relax in. It wasn’t Nellie’s, but Ryan was right, it was a hell of a lot closer to it than the stylish The View. We made our way to the bar and he ordered two beers, which were poured into large styrofoam cups. That was a first for me, but I learned that these cups had been a tradition in Farrell’s for decades. His brother Mike spied us fairly quickly and came over, curious to meet me. I liked him. He was one of those men who had no sides to him. You got what you saw.
‘You must be pretty special,’ he shouted into my ear. ‘Ryan has never brought anyone to Farrell’s. Ever.’
I looked at Ryan in surprise. And dared to hope that maybe I was pretty special.
‘What did Dad say to us, when we started to date?’ Mike put on a thick Irish accent and said, ‘Don’t shit on your own doorstep lad.’
Ryan looked a bit worried, but I thought it was hilarious.
I had a great chat with Eddie the owner too and we swapped landlord horror stories. He promised he’d call in to Nellie’s next time he was in Ireland and down Wexford way.
By the time I left the pub, I was in deep. And he hadn’t even kissed me. Ryan called a cab for me, and insisted he accompany me back to my apartment.
‘Can I see you tomorrow?’
‘I’m working the lunchtime shift.’
‘We could do breakfast. Have you been to Pershing’s yet?’
‘No. Sorry, should I have?’
‘Yes! It’s a New York institution. Meet me at Grand Central Station at 8 a.m. The restaurant is opposite the clock. We can have a few hours together before you need to get ready for work. OK?’
‘It’s a date.’ Then we both grinned, charmed with ourselves and each other. Eventually I had no choice but to go inside my apartment. I think I might have floated in. I was glad that Maeve wasn’t there because I didn’t want to talk about the date yet. I wanted to savour and keep it all to myself. I fell asleep thinking about Ryan and when I awoke the next morning, he was my first thought. And when I realized I wasn’t in Ireland any more, unlike the other mornings, I smiled. I was in New York and I understood why so many fell in love with this wonderful, vibrant city. Last n
ight, I’d developed a mighty big crush on it myself.
When I got to Pershing’s, he was waiting for me. And we did another moment of staring at each other, with cheesy grins. I thought he was going to kiss me hello, but then he kind of steered himself backwards again. There was a short wait for a table, but I loved watching the Manhattanites rushing in and out, picking up coffees and bagels from the takeaway area. Always rushing. The speed that people moved in New York still surprised and worried me slightly. Our server led us to our table, in the centre of the restaurant, which was another architectural gem. No Fifties diner, this place. It was elegant and very grown-up. I looked at Ryan and tried to work out if he got lucky by choosing a restaurant that was so me, or was it possible that he actually got me?
‘So what do you recommend?’ I asked, looking through the menu.
‘Pancakes. Or the omelettes.’
‘My mam makes omelettes for dinner every Friday night. With chips on the side. That’s French fries to you!’
‘Hey, I know what chips are,’ Ryan said. ‘I grew up in an Irish home, remember. One of my mam’s pet peeves is the wrong use of crisps or chips on a menu. Over thirty years here and she still calls the trash, rubbish and our sneakers, runners. As she says, what do you do when you put your runners on. You run!’
‘I think I’d like your mam. She sounds fun.’
‘She is. But she’s no pushover either. Surrounded by men, as she says, she has to be tough to keep us all under control.’
‘Yesterday I was in JCPenneys. It was so cold, I needed to get some warmer clothes. Anyhow, I asked a member of staff where the jumpers were. And the look she gave me! ‘Jumper! There’s a jumper? Where?’ she screamed as she looked out to the window. Took me ages to persuade her that there wasn’t anyone suicidal and all I wanted was to buy a sweater!’
The Moon Over Kilmore Quay Page 14
